


The Lady From L.A.

by AliceInKinkland



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Noir, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4668587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceInKinkland/pseuds/AliceInKinkland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winifred Burkle is a young P.I. new to the sin and sophistication of Los Angeles. Lilah Morgan is a seductive lawyer with a dangerous but tempting proposition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady From L.A.

**Author's Note:**

> _Angel_ is basically already urban fantasy!modern!noir, right? Especially any parts involving Lilah. Based on [this tumblr post by sansasnark](http://thehornyphilosopher.tumblr.com/post/127676185740/sansasnark-its-the-forties-and-she-fred-is). This was a lot of fun to write.

The sound of a ringing telephone cuts through the near-silence of the small, dark office, making Fred jump and nearly rip the sheet of paper she’s feeding into her typewriter. Taking a deep breath, Fred picks up the receiver. “Angel Investigations, we help the helpless,” she says, wishing the others weren’t all out on assignments so they could hear her steady tone.  _I am absolutely capable of answering the phone in a professional manner, and definitely ready to start taking real cases where I actually interact with clients._

“Winifred Burkle?” The voice is feminine, and cold in a way that sends a shiver up Fred’s spine.

“Who is this?” asks Fred, not sure why she holds herself back from affirming her identity. There’s no real reason to be evasive except a vague feeling in her gut to tread even more cautiously than usual.

“Lilah Morgan. I’m an attorney with Wolfram and Hart. Perhaps you’ve heard of us?” Lilah’s tone makes it clear that she’s well aware Fred has definitely heard of Lilah and her firm, and indeed, the lawyer and the people she works for was one of the first things Fred was briefed on when she got this job a month ago. Wolfram and Hart, who seem to have been involved with almost half the cases this small private detective agency has ever investigated, but who cover their tracks so well that after two years in the game Angel and the others still haven’t been able to dig up enough dirt to link the lawyers to anything.

“Can I help you?” asks Fred, searching in the dim light for a pen and paper.

“You’re investigating a murder that took place in West Hollywood two weeks ago, isn’t that right?” says Lilah.

“We don’t give out that kind of information, ma’am,” says Fred, playing with one of her braids and resisting the urge to hang up and hide under the table.

“Of course not. You do, however, meet with people who may have information that could help you solve a case, do you not?”

“Well, Angel usually, I mean…” Fred feels a sudden surge of frustration at this woman who has made her lose her admittedly shaky professional demeanour so quickly into their conversation.

“I would really love to buy you a drink tonight, Winifred,” says Lilah. “You’ll find we have much to discuss. I’ll be at the Sunset Lounge at 8.” She pauses, and Fred tries to keep her nervous breathing too soft for Lilah to hear. “Oh, and Winifred?” Lilah adds. “Come alone.” Fred hears a click as the call disconnects.

* * *

Fred has never been to a bar by herself, and she worries this is obvious to every single patron of the Sunset Lounge as she makes her way through the dark and smoky room, scanning the crowd for a woman sitting alone. Her fears are confirmed when she’s beckoned into a booth at the rear of the bar by a solitary brunette, and the woman’s first words to her are, “Trench coat? Really? Could you be any more conspicuous?”

“Oh, and you just blend right in,” Fred can’t help muttering as she sits, staring at Lilah’s unsubtle makeup and bordering-on-ostentatious jewelry. She knows she’s supposed to treat a potential source of leads with more care than this, but something about Lilah makes Fred feel like she has to win some verbal battle she only has a vague sense of how to play.

Lilah smirks. “If anyone notices me right now, they’re only going to be thinking about one thing.” She slides a stockinged calf up Fred’s leg as if to prove her point, and Fred stiffens.

She must admit, the other woman is gorgeous—black dress hugging her body, hair in elegant waves, lipstick several shades redder than Fred would ever dare wear. Fred collects herself, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through her from the brush of their legs, and says, “You said we had things to discuss.”

Lilah peers quickly through the haze of the bar; then, seeming satisfied that Fred has indeed come alone, pulls an unmarked envelope out of her purse and sets it on the table between them. She inclines her head and raises her eyebrow at Fred, and after a moment, Fred realizes she’s meant to pick the envelope up. Cautiously, she opens it, and pulls out a series of photographs, all of the same man talking and shaking hands with a variety of other people. Some of the faces look vaguely familiar.

“Linwood,” supplies Lilah, snatching back the photographs. “Head of Special Projects at my firm. This is evidence he has met with every major crime boss in the city, including the one you gumshoes suspect ordered the murder of Catherine Jones.” Lilah removes a cigarette from a small metal case and lights it, her lips leaving a faint print on the rolled paper.

Fred can feel her frustration mounting. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me for? These don’t prove anything. A lawyer, of all people, should know that.”

“Oh, that’s not all,” says Lilah, grinning like that cat that got the cream. “I also have five very incriminating letters, linking him to your present investigation as well as proving he withheld evidence during the trial for that jewel thief you were so concerned with a while back.” Seeing Fred’s confused expression, Lilah says, “Oh, that was before your time. Ask Angel about it. Fascinating case.”

“Are you asking for money?” says Fred, trying to think if there is any way they have the cash to pay any more informants. They’re not exactly rolling in it over at Angel Investigations, and she doubts she could convince the others to put a single penny into the pockets of anyone connected to Wolfram and Hart.

“No, darling, I just need your assurance that you’ll keep my name out of this,” says Lilah, taking a sip of what Fred is pretty sure is scotch, her fingers holding her cigarette in a way that is somehow even more sensual than when she had it between her lips.

Fred raises her eyebrows. This doesn’t sound at all like the Lilah Morgan she has been warned about. “So—what? I’m just s’pposed to trust that you want to help me?” Fred asks. She may be young-ish, and relatively inexperienced with the world of big cities and murders and women who wear red lipstick and drink expensive scotch, but she’s not stupid. Lilah can’t play her this easily, even if the dress the lawyer is wearing does make it a little difficult to focus on her face.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” says Lilah, not sounding sorry in the slightest, “Have I given you the impression that I’m telling you all this out of the goodness of my heart? I want his job, and the only way I’m going to get it is if he loses it, and I would prefer not to resort to murder when there are white hats like you crawling around and sticking their noses where they don’t belong.”

“What if I take the letters and don’t keep this meeting a secret?” asks Fred.

“You wouldn’t do that, because you, unlike me, want to be a good person. I know how you types think—bastions of morality in this chaotic modern age.” Lilah rolls her eyes. “You won’t stab me in the back unless I stab you first.

“Besides,” she shoots Fred a conspiratorial grin, “I know about you, Winifred Burkle. I know that you’ve spent the past five years in an asylum. I know you’re afraid to tell your new friends, who already treat you like a child sometimes, even though you were committed under false pretenses by your physics professor after you refused to let him take credit for a paper you wrote. I know you wouldn’t try to sabotage a woman trying to get ahead in a man’s world.” Lilah’s ankle is back on Fred’s leg, brushing smooth nylon against Fred’s cotton socks and bare skin. Fred can’t tell if Lilah is threatening her or attempting to bond over their shared experience. The answer is quite possibly both, Fred decides, letting the tip of her Mary Jane brush against Lilah’s stiletto even as she wonders why she isn’t pulling away.

“Alright,” says Fred, “Give me the letters. I promise I’ll completely forget who they came from.”

“Oh,” says Lilah, “I didn’t bring them. If you want them, you’ll need to pay me a visit tomorrow.” Taking a pen and notepad from her purse, Lilah scrawls an address and hands the page to Fred. “This is my apartment. Same time as this evening. Oh, and don’t even think of bringing any of your friends. I will, however, give you this, so you feel a bit more confident that I’m not simply plotting to kill you.” Fred feels cold metal brush her knee through her skirt, and reaches under the table to grasp the gun and slide it into her satchel.

“Thank you for the lovely chat,” says Lilah, grinning as she downs the last of her drink and rises to her feet. “I’m really looking forward to getting to know you better.” She stares down at Fred, her smile all sharp teeth, her lips reminding Fred strongly of blood. “Getting to know you, and maybe giving you some fashion tips.” Before Fred can think of a suitable retort, Lilah bends down, kisses Fred lightly on the forehead, and walks out of the bar. Fred knows she’s not alone in watching Lilah’s hips sway as she makes her exit.

Fred knows she’s in over her head, and part of her wants to tell Angel and Wesley and Gunn and Cordelia about everything that has just transpired. But Lilah’s right—she’s sick of how they treat her like a kid, sick of doing the paperwork instead of the real cases, and now that she’s found a proper lead, she wants to follow the trail herself.

Even though, if she knows anything at all about Lilah Morgan, this trail of hers leads nowhere good.


End file.
